#hey i wrote a fanfic!

[lauraneedstochill]

My first choice (part 1/2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eye prince to fall in love with.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~ 5500

warnings: friends to lovers, slow burn (with very obvious mutual pining), angst, Aegon is a sad boy (but ends up being a pretty good wingman!)

author's note: this is inspired by “Little women” and Amy March in particular. I took the liberty to rewrite some plot lines because to me Aemond is nothing like Laurie (Aegon is ;) and I hate love triangles so we are not having any of that sorry. it's a bit of a roller coaster so I divided it into 2 parts in hopes that it will be easier to read: the first part explains Aemond's feelings, the second one is about hers. ✨ part 2

part 1. How could you be so blind

Aegon knows he's supposed to be relieved — he never wanted the crown and now that Rhaenyra is the Queen and a feast is arranged in her honor, he should be celebrating. And he may have been hitting the wine way too hard for the past couple of hours, but he can’t pretend to be happy, and he gave up trying to force a smile. It’s ridiculous that he is upset over this, and yet he can’t help but feel horribly useless. The prince drinks one cup after another until the room starts spinning and he can’t even sit straight — and then he suddenly finds himself propped against the wall, sliding under the table instead of sitting at it. Aegon catches a few judgemental glances but at this point, he couldn’t care less. There is only one person whose judgment he is afraid of — and it’s not long before he’s greeted with a displeased remark:

“When I asked you not to swoop too low, I couldn’t imagine you would literally lay on the floor.”

He looks up — and here you are, staring down at him, not even trying to cover up your disappointment. At any other time, Aegon would’ve at least tried to sober up, but today he’s disappointed in himself, too, so he doesn’t make an effort. Instead, he reaches out an arm to you with a lax smile:

“Would you like to join me?”

“I didn’t get the invitation to this pity party so I will pass,” your tone suggests you are not in the mood for jesting. “Now that you’ve succeeded in making a fool out of yourself, would you mind getting upright?”

“I think I like it here,” he retorts, shamelessly staring at the legs of the maids passing by. 

“You like wallowing in misery for all to see?” you huff. “Aegon, get up.”

He fakes a whine:

“My legs gave out, I’m afraid!” 

“You would need to drink all the wine in the castle for that to happen, and I doubt you managed to do that,” you roll your eyes, taking a step toward him — but pause upon hearing a voice behind your back:

“You underestimate my brother.”

Aemond has a habit of sneaking up on people which often startles you yet right now you are too angry at Aegon to be bothered. You throw Aemond a glare over your shoulder but your eyes soften when you see the apologetic look on his face. It’s not the first time that the two of you find yourself in this situation — throughout the years you learned to work as a team: you bring Aegon back to his senses while Aemond helps to physically bring him to the nearest flat surface. You have never asked him for help — and yet he’s always there.

Aemond is about to lean down to help his brother up — you stop the one-eye prince with your hand, your palm inches away from his chest. Anyone else would’ve thought twice before standing in his way but you don’t hesitate.

“He is perfectly capable to get up on his own,” you reject Aemond’s attempt, your eyes fixed on Aegon. “He can hold onto the wall shall he feel unable to stay on his two feet.”

There is something in your gaze that makes Aegon uncomfortable, piercing him to the bone. You are never downright mean or rude but with just a few words you can easily unmask his feigned recklessness. The prince stands up, tottering and feeling a little light-headed.

“Are you happy, now when I'm in the standing position?”

“If you cared about anyone else's feelings but your own, you wouldn't be in this position,” you scold him while Aemond takes his brother under the arm to guide him out. Aegon tries to grab another cup of wine but you slap his hand.

“Do you ever get ashamed of yourself?” you hiss at him.

“Let me think... No, why would I?” he sounds sarcastic.

“You should be,” you whisper scream at him. “You can find nothing to do but dawdle and make a mockery of yourself!”

Aemond feels his brother shuddering at your words, and he tightens his hold on Aegon.

“Well, what else am I to do,” his voice is bitter. “Since I am not an heir and serve no purpose to the realm nor do I have any taste for duty.”

You slow your pace, and a sigh leaves your mouth.

“I feel sorry for you, Aegon, I do. I only wish you'd bear it better,” you reach out to stroke his arm but the prince bristles.

“You don't have to feel sorry for me. Your duty is to marry, and we will see how that goes,” he mutters before he can stop himself — and regrets it the very next second when you swiftly turn to him.

“At least I would be respected if I couldn't be loved,” your tone hushed but sharp.

Aegon stops dead in his tracks, his wide eyes meeting yours. You moved away from the crowd into the hall, and it becomes silent. And then his lower lip quivers.

“But I thought that you loved me,” Aegon whimpers, his assumed nonchalance instantly gone.

“Oh, Aegon, how much did you have to drink?” you come to his side, lending him a shoulder to cry on. While he’s aggressively sniffling, you look at Aemond and quietly mouth “How many cups?”

“Way more than usual,” he gives you a wan smile, and you groan at his answer, taking Aegon by the arm.

“Alright, you can lean on me. But don’t get handsy or I will push you down the stairs,” your remark earns a weak laugh from the older prince, and the three of you head toward his chambers.

Aegon doesn’t talk much but his mood softens and you exchange a few jokes before finally reaching his room.

“I can take it from here,” Aemond suggests but his brother eagerly protests.

“No, I want to be tucked into bed! And definitely not by you,” he sticks out his tongue, and you chuckle at his whim.

“Aemond, I can handle him.” 

The one-eyed prince shoots you a knowing glance and holds the door open for you and Aegon to walk in. You slowly move to his bed, making sure he doesn’t stumble on his way — and then, with a sudden boost of energy, the prince flops down on the fluffy blankets, letting out a satisfied moan. You hold back a giggle and wait for him to crawl under the covers.

“Should I call for the maid to help you undress?”

“No, I am way too comfortable like this,” he pulls the blanket up to his chin, and you sit on the edge of the bed.

“I am sorry for the way I behaved,” he reveals, frowning. “I did not mean to, truly.”

“Aegon, you know I’m not the one you should apologize to,” you take his hand in yours, and he squeezes it with childish eagerness. “You left Helaena all alone. And you promised me you would make an effort.”

“I know, I know,” he yawns. “I was doing better until today, I swear, you should ask her,” his speech becomes incoherent as he is already too drowsy to talk, his cheeks flushed from the wine and the heat of the blankets. As you stand up to leave, Aegon mumbles:

“I fetched you a book... the one you were looking for,” he sloppily points to his table by the window before dozing off.

There is only one book so it’s easy to find — and when you do, you can barely contain a sound of surprise: it's the complete history of Westeros, heavy and hardcover, decorated with gilding. You glance at Aegon but he looks fast asleep so you cautiously get out of his chambers.

If you were to turn around, you would’ve noticed that he kept an eye on you with a grin on his face.

When you walk out, you see Aemond still standing there, his gaze landing on the book and then immediately on you. It takes you a minute to figure it out and then you smile at him:

“Even though I appreciate the gesture, it is hard to imagine Aegon in the library.”

“He asked me to help him find the book you wanted. I did,” the prince explains as if it isn’t that big of a deal. But to you, it is — although you think he only did it out of politeness.

“Thank you, Aemond,” you enthusiastically turn your attention to the book, flipping through the pages in awe. He watches you, feeling the warmth in his chest at the sight of your joy.

“You know that you bring out the best in him?” Aemond says in a low voice, and your heart skips a beat at his comment. You are thankful for the dim lighting that makes your heated cheeks less obvious.

“You overestimate my influence,” you say, then dither before admitting, “I’m afraid I was too hard on him today.”

“Someone has to do it,” Aemond objects, and there’s something in his tone — sincere and soft, that makes you look at him again. At this moment, away from the prying eyes and the pressure of everyone’s expectations, you can see the side of him that people rarely get acquainted with.

“I think you are doing a pretty good job, too,” you tell the prince, finding his presence ever so calming. You could never understand why would anyone call Aemond intimidating when he’s been nothing but kind to you ever since you two met. Whenever you have a chance to be alone with him, his company always brings you comfort, and that feeling is so rare, you want to chase it.

But then you remind yourself of the harsh reality, and your smile falters.

“I’m sorry you had to get involved,” you look down at the book. “I wouldn’t want to distract you.” 

“You need to elaborate on that,” Aemond says uncomprehendingly.

“I’ve heard that you were courting lady Baratheon,” you explain casually, avoiding his gaze.

He hesitates before answering.

“Well, I only plan to,” the prince clarifies. “If she accepts my advances.”

“It would be silly of her not to,” you blurt out and, while you can’t see it, Aemond gives you a quizzical look.

“She may have her reasons —” 

“I can’t come up with a single one,” you tell him with so much confidence, Aemond’s heart flutters at your words but you continue without a second thought. “You are intelligent, good-hearted, handsome — and a really skilled swordsman. Not to mention you have the biggest dragon in the realm, which does sound like a reasonable perk.”

The prince is glad that you’re too preoccupied with the book to see his stunned expression. It’s not just the fact that you compliment him so easily — but also the way you do it. When other people try to, they usually start with Vhagar as if the old grumpy creature is the main good thing about Aemond. But you only bring up the dragon at the very end and in passing, instead keeping the focus on the prince. He is silent for a moment, letting your words sink into his memory.

And then Aemond persuades himself that you only said it out of politeness.

You notice his lack of response — and you are about to question it when a maid comes to you in haste:

“Lady Y/N, your presence is needed. Your father is looking for you.”

“Better not keep him waiting,” the prince encourages you with a grin. “If he finds Aegon, he might hug him to death.”

You playfully elbow him and turn to follow the maid but then stop to say:

“Please make sure your brother stays in bed.”

“Will do,” Aemond looks at you walking away, clutching the book to your chest as if it's the most precious thing in the world.

To this day, it is truly a mystery to him how Aegon managed to befriend someone like you. You met the Targaryen brothers when your family was invited to one of the royal feasts. You were ten and three, the middle one of three sisters. Your oldest — Elaesa — has been the center of attention, beautiful and graceful, but while everyone’s eyes were on her, you looked a little bit disoriented. It was the first feast that you’ve attended, and maybe you got too agitated or overwhelmed — or both — but soon you ended up lost in the castle, and somehow ripped the hem of your dress in the process.

Aemond was the one to find you. The prince has never been keen on taking part in celebrations, often sneaking away from all the noise. That’s when he saw you — fussing with the dress, your sobs echoing through the hall.

“Are you hurt?” he rushed to your side, and you looked up at him with blubbered eyes.

“Why do you have so many halls? You should hand out maps so people can find their way back,” despite being clearly upset, you sounded unusually serious, and Aemond fought back a smile.

“I can help you find your parents without a map,” he suggested, and for a second it seemed to lighten your mood but then your pout worsened.

“I cannot go back,” you gestured at the dress. “I am in such trouble!” you whined, the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. 

Truth be told, Aemond didn’t have much experience with ladies back then nor did he know a thing about dresses but your distress seemed so genuine he couldn’t leave you be.

“It is not that bad,” he pointed at the ripped material. “I can ask our seamstress to take a look.”

You studied his face for a second, then glanced back at the dress — surprisingly, that was all it took for you to stop crying, and no other coaxing was needed. You wiped your nose and fixed your hairdo, smoothing the damaged hem the best you could.

“I'd appreciate it if you help me find my way back,” you said, your face seemingly more relaxed.

Getting you to talk was pretty easy, and Aemond shortly discovered how open-minded and outspoken you were, using your quick thinking to compensate for your timid personality. When you returned to the hall of the Iron Throne, he was reluctant to let you go but promised to come back with the seamstress. The task only took him about ten minutes, but when he did reappear, you were not alone — Aegon was standing next to you, making you laugh so hard, it looked like you forgot about the dress already. Aemond didn’t mean to interrupt as he suddenly felt very out of place, uninvited in his own home, so he abandoned the idea of helping you and just left.

At first, he thought you fell for Aegon’s flirtatious charms but soon learned that, as much as you did like his brother’s humor, his charms had no effect on you. On the contrary, you often chided him for hitting on young girls and openly condemned his affection for wine. Your honesty set you apart from all the ladies Aegon was surrounded with — and that was the reason he came to enjoy your company as much as he did. Despite the three years age gap, you were the one who told him the truth, no matter how ugly it might’ve been, but you did so without prejudice or any ill intentions. You would usually follow your critique with advice or a solution of some sort to keep the prince away from unnecessary trouble. That is why you were on friendly terms with Helaena, too, and your influence was also welcomed by Alicent, the then Queen. She liked that you were straightforward with your remarks and often said that you were wise beyond your years. Although, as much as Aemond agreed with it, he suspected there was a reason you had to grow up early.

It happened the same year you met — your older sister, with all her grace and beauty, ran away from home to elope with some unworthy beggar. Your mother was inconsolable for at least a week, saying that Elaesa brought shame upon her family. Your father, the kind man that he is, forgave his daughter fairly quickly and tried his best to restore peace. And yet, you came to realize that Elaesa's vagary did cast a shadow over your House. Your youngest sister, Alyna, was a fragile little thing, frequently sick and tacit — which left you to be the one representing your family in the eyes of society.

Within a few years, there wasn't a thing you weren't good at: lords lined up to have a dance with you, ladies admired how well-spoken you were and shared a laugh at your florid sarcasm, and you learned to embroider, to ride a horse, to walk exquisitely dressed and with impeccable posture. But while for everyone else it was a reason to compliment you, Aemond saw the underlying cause of your diligence — the corrosive desire to prove one's worth which was something he learned to live with as well. And which led him to think he understood you better than anyone.

More often than not he found himself watching you as if he had the need to make sure you weren't in harm's way. Helping you with Aegon was a part of that routine but it also gave him a chance to be alone with you. You talked about everything and nothing in particular, and he would catch glimpses of you — the real you, shy and emotional at times, but still understanding and perceptive. He cherished every opportunity to steal you away from the never-ending chattering, from lords ogling at you, from Jason Lannister whose interest in your company should've been concerning. Aemond has gotten so used to observing you, so enthralled with your covert conversations, he didn't realize that a particular feeling was creeping up on him. But there was one person who turned out to be more observant than Aemond has been. Aegon was the mere reason why his brother ended up at your door a few days later. Aemond’s been to your place a couple of times and he promptly memorized the way to the farthest room of the house — the one you used to paint in. It was the only thing you truly allowed yourself to enjoy, an unexpected talent of yours which you soon perfected, too, except it wasn't meant for the others to marvel at but plainly for you to keep your head occupied, to have some quiet time.

He walks in when you are already painting the finishing touches. When you turn to greet him, you stop mid-sentence, seeing that it’s Aemond instead of his brother who you were waiting for.

“He overslept,” the younger prince shrugs. “It isn't a bothersome task to come pick up the portrait of my nephews.”

You point in the direction of the painting with the brush in your hand. Aemond admires your work — as he always does — while you try to shake off your confusion. There is another reason you did not expect to see Aemond today. You tarry with voicing your concern but eventually glance at him with empathy:

“I was sorry to hear about lady Baratheon’s decision.”

“I was not,” he’s quick to retort.

“I cannot imagine agreeing to marry a Stark,” you say, dipping a brush in a jar of water.

“Is it the cold weather?” Aemond grins knowingly.

“Yes! Gods, just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy. All the layers you have to wear to keep yourself warm, barely being able to move, getting no sunlight...,” you ramble, making sure to wet all the brushes before lining them up on the table.

“Some say they've got quite a beautiful scenery,” Aemond tries to object although he knows his argument doesn't stand a chance.

“I wouldn't be able to enjoy that,” you huff. “How am I to capture the beauty if my paint freezes?”

He only hums in agreement, watching you busy yourself with your supplies. You go through the brushes, delicately cleaning the bristles with a cloth. Your fingers carefully take one brush after the other, and Aemond silently admires your love for neatness and order.

“You are staring,” you say without turning to him.

“Where do you want me to look at?”

“Aemond, you are in a room full of art!” you chuckle lightly. “Surely, enough options to land your eye on.”

The prince lets his gaze go around the place, and it takes him about a minute to quickly examine all the paintings. And then he inevitably looks at you again. Aemond thinks he likes this view the most.

“When do you begin your next great work of art?” he asks, hoping to distract you. 

You halt movement, then force out glumly:

“Never.”

“What do you mean?” he’s taken by surprise.

“I’ve come to realize that I’d never be a genius,” you reluctantly explain. “So I’m giving up all my foolish artistic hopes.”

“Y/N, you cannot be serious. You have so much talent and — ”

“Talent isn’t genius!” you throw up your hands in defeat, and he can sense your frustration from a distance. “I may be talented in other things, but when it comes to painting, I want to be great or nothing. And I am only of middling talent,” you scoop up the brushes, give them a quick look and place in another jar to dry.

Aemond wants to argue, he really does — but he also knows better than to try and persuade you when you are like this: firmly standing your ground, exuding nothing but stubbornness. In any other situation, he would’ve found it endearing but it’s upsetting to see you downplaying your brilliance.

“Hm, may I at least ask your last portrait to be of me?”

You instantly turn to him, taken aback. Throughout the years you’ve known him, he clearly expressed that he did not like being painted, and you only could make a quick sketch or two, at best, when he wasn't paying attention.

“Alright,” the long-awaited opportunity makes you smile. “Next time I come for breakfast, I will drag you into the garden to pose for me,” you give him a pointed look, and Aemond humbly nods.

Your smile grows wider but you try to tone it down, afraid to spook him, and focus on wiping the nearest table.

“What are you going to do with your life in the meantime?” he changes the subject.

“Polish up my other skills and become an ornament to society,” you sigh, putting the cloth away.

There’s a brief pause before he says, his voice a bit strained:

“Here is where Jason Lannister comes in, I suppose?”

You say yes but the answer comes a little bit too fast, and Aemond notices that the topic makes you uncomfortable.

“But you are yet to be betrothed to him,” he clarifies, gaze fixed on you.

“I will be if he proposes,” your eyes meet his, and you are sure that there’s a shadow of disapproval on his face that only spurs your stubbornness. You fully turn to the prince to say: “I always knew I had to marry well, I do not feel ashamed of that.”

But Aemond isn’t looking for a fight — he swiftly corrects himself:

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. As long as...” — he can barely bring himself to say it — “As long as you love him.”

For the reason unknown to Aemond, his statement brings a bleak smile to your face.

“I believe we can have some power over who we love,” you object, lowering your gaze for a second as you start absentmindedly twisting the ring on your finger.

“I think the poets would disagree,” he chuckles, trying to defuse the unexpected tension. 

But when you look up at him, your glare is as obdurate as ever.

“Well, I am not a poet, I am just a woman,” you rebut crisply. “And as a woman, I have no illusions about my prospects which do not include me earning a living to support my family. And my parent’s fortune has its limits as I've come to learn. Hence why, if I want to have children — I do — and be able to provide them with everything they wish for, I must rely on my husband,” that last word is pronounced with disappointment. “So don't stand here and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me.”

Had he not known you, Aemond would’ve been very impressed — with how blunt and witty you are, you are very good at delivering speeches. But as he’s standing in front of you, watching your face, he senses that your determination is akin to despair. Aemond thinks he might take a chance at arguing with you, after all — but you’re both startled by a knock on the door:

“Lady Y/N, Ser Lannister just arrived.”

You look baffled for a second, your confidence crumbling.

“Why would he — I, I didn’t expect him today,” you mumble, almost ashamed of his arrival.

Yet you pull yourself together faster than Aemond can come up with a reason for you to stay. You remove your apron and quickly examine your dress, then move to put on a cape.

“Did I miss any paint stains?” you ask Aemond in a haste.

“No,” he looks over the flowing material of your neat dress, your hair knotted up high — and then: “...Wait!”

You stop abruptly while he grabs a clean cloth.

“There is something on your cheek,” he says as you both step toward each other — and in the next second you’re suddenly standing too close. 

You turn to him and shyly shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. Aemond is frozen for a moment but then carefully wipes away a slight smudge of green from under your cheekbone. His hand unwillingly lingers as he examines the delicate features of your face. You open your eyes, looking at the prince questingly. His facial expression is unreadable but it makes you wish you didn’t have to go.

You brush away that silly thought and stand back, fixing your cape.

“How do I look? Do I look alright?”

“You look beautiful,” Aemond says with no hesitation, taking you in — with your cheeks a bit flushed, lip parted and eyes shining. “You are beautiful.”

You seem bewildered at his words but then a smile grows on your face — and in a blink of an eye, you’re gone. The prince is left standing there, staring at the spot where you were just now. The room suddenly feels so empty without you — and so does his heart.

The realization strikes Aemond like lightning: he wants to be the one you come to, at all times. The one holding your hand, watching you paint, or read, or dance — watching you do whatever your heart desires. Because his only desire is to be with you. That thought puts down roots deep into his chest, and he doesn’t know how to pluck it out.

Nor does he want to. It’s all he can think about for the duration of the week, until you come to the castle — with canvas and supplies, not hiding your excitement. He almost forgot about his promise but follows you into the garden without objection. You sense a slight change in Aemond’s behavior, him being more quiet than usual, but decide not to push the prince so he won’t reconsider.

“I will start with a sketch and then we will go from there. Alright?” 

He just hums in response while looking at you but you are unaware of the meaning behind his gaze.

“Take any pose you like, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable,” you suggest with a half-smile, knowing full well he will probably remain standing.

And he does, arms clasped behind his back, his eye never leaving your face. You immerse in the process too quickly to be bothered, the piece of charcoal in your hand sliding over the paper, leaving lines and shadows. Drawing Aemond is an effortless task, and you can only enjoy how easy it is to sketch the sharp contours of his face and his lean body. The simplicity can also be explained by the fact that you've already memorized all the details by heart: the curves of his cheekbones and his lips, the flow of his silver hair, the shape and cut of his eye.

When you are finally satisfied, you can’t tell if it’s been an hour or three, and the prince, as it seems, hasn’t moved a muscle. At this point, Aemond’s demeanor does worry you yet you blame it on his nervousness.

“Want to take a look?” you hand him a few sketches. “Mind you, I’m not finished so please don’t judge too harshly —”

“I could never,” his hand brushes yours when he takes the drawings.

Aemond has seen your works before but it's a whole new experience when he's the one being portrayed. He almost doesn't recognize himself — you didn't miss a single feature of his yet somehow this version of him looks too beautiful to be real. He's at a loss for words until he spots that there's another drawing hidden underneath. It's a sketch of him sitting, both arms on the table, his face looks like he's deep in his thoughts.

“When did you do this one?”

“After the coronation,” the memory makes you smile. “Made my poor father lug around with charcoal in his pockets while he was trying to keep up the conversation with Ser Lannister.”

It was the day you got introduced to Jason. You were supposed to be by his side, with your charming smile and polite talks, yet you spend your time drawing Aemond. He can imagine your gaze focused on the piece of paper, the way you must've been looking at him to capture every detail and movement — all of that without him asking to, without him even noticing. There's so much care in that act, he is unexpectedly moved by it.

The words leave his mouth before he can think them over:

“Don't marry him.”

His request makes your hands tremble, and you drop the piece of charcoal, slowly looking up at Aemond, the smile disappearing from your face. He did not mean that, you must've misunderstood.

“...What?”

Aemond turns to you, looking you straight in the eyes:

“Don't marry him,” he repeats, helplessly and desperately.

“Why?” you ask in disbelief, suddenly having trouble breathing. The only reason you can think of sounds delusional, close to impossible. You wait for him to come up with some clever explanation — instead, he comes closer to you, his gaze so warm it makes your cheeks burn.

“You know why,” Aemond says and his hand gently lands on yours. You look down at it, perplexed, your mouth opening and closing, heart rate speeding up.

He keeps his eye on your face as he waits for your reply. You are not repulsed nor angry — which is supposed to be a good sign — but the reaction he gets is actually worse than that. Because when you finally glance at him, you look hurt.

“No,” you yank away your hand as if his touch stung. “No, Aemond, you are being mean, stop it,” you take a step back, your eyes glossy and lips tight. The look you give causes him physical pain — while you are trying your best to fight back the tears.

His intelligence clearly fails him because Aemond has no clue what’s going on. He feels like there is a deeper meaning to your words but he does not get it.

“Why am I being mean?” he asks incredulously as you slowly continue putting more distance between you two.

You don’t even realize you are doing it — it’s almost an urge to not be in his presence, for the first time ever. The weight of his words feels suffocating and merciless. How easy it is for him to toy with your emotions, you think, and that cruelty of his — as you see it — wounds you so deeply, he might as well put a torch to your heart.

“I have felt like everyone’s second choice my entire life,” you bemoan, not being able to keep your agony bottled up any longer. “In everything, no matter how hard I’ve worked to be better. I thought you out of all people would understand that,” you sound raspy, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I will not be the person you settle for just because your first marriage proposal was turned down,” only when your voice shudders, Aemond finally understands how wrongfully you interpreted his intentions.

But you are out of his reach already — at least ten feet away from him, and the distance separates you like a giant chasm.

“No, I won’t. I can’t,” you are hurting so much, your feelings spill out like blood from a wound. “I can’t do it. Not when I have spent years loving you.”

His breathing hitches as your confession pierces through his chest — and he is left speechless, deafened by it. The moment slips through his fingers with unforgiving pace: you were standing so close only a minute ago — and now you are turning your back to him, rushing away. The last thing he sees is how broken you look, your shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears. 

Aemond stands, shocked and paralyzed until it’s too late — the garden is silent with your absence and the only evidence of you being there is your supplies scattered on the ground. Your words are ringing in his head, his heart heavy with a dreadful feeling.

He was afraid he would never have you — but he actually could have.

If only he wasn't so blind.

➡ Part 2

yes, this is me blabbing again: I’ve watched this movie an embarrassing amount of times, and I’ve wanted to write a fic based on it for a few months. I did rephrase a couple of quotes but still tried my best to do the story justice. my apologies for the angst — just so you know, it was painful to write. also, will I ever stop using friends to lovers trope? only time will tell! (I probably won't, though) I know there is a very heartwarming fic by aemonds-war-crime that was also based on “Little women” and it's only fair that I link it as well!

tagging @greenowlfactif because you asked 💙 comments and opinions are VERY welcomed! 🥺 🎨 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

#aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #<<< PLS don’t be mad! I know Aegon isn’t the main character but he has a meaningful role #so I thought maybe I should add his tag too... (PLS DON’T BE MAD) #on a completely unrelated note I decided to start with dialogue(s) and then bring the backstory #I think it’s more engaging??? but we’ll see how that goes #also it was a conscious decision to start with Aemond’s side of the story — just so it comes as a surprise when she says ‘hey I loved you f #(I mean it obviously won’t be surprising if you saw the movie...) #ALSO I really hope you guys will want the second part (’cause I already wrote it lmao) #my stuff #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond one eye x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fics #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen angst

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

If I had a nickel for every time I accidentally wrote a few thousand words of Arthur Pendragon x Finding Nemo’s dad, I’d have two nickels.

Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice.

Grammarly hates me. I quit.

#marlin finding nemo #arthur pendragon #merlin #bbc merlin #i don’t know how to tag this #shit post #merthur #sort of #ao3 fanfic #if i had a nickel #why am i like this #i’m too tired for this #autocorrect #i quit #A’s and e’s don’t exist anymore #is merlin even a real word? #this is why I don’t have a beta reader #I’d feel bad for making them put up with my shit #I just wrote 3 and a half chapters of king x fish #but hey at least it wasn’t 12k words this time. #fucking hell

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Y'know I find it incredibly ironic that in my Chronicles of Narnia fic series, an interesting inversion in fate (and character development) finds the most rebellious among the most devoted to restoring Aslan’s kingdom, while the most faithful fell the furthest. Edmund turns back at the tree and becomes a king of Narnia alongside Caspian, helping guide it into a new golden age and earning the title of the Once and Future King, while Lucy literally becomes an eldritch goddess and is implied to have straight up killed Aslan at some point. Edmund gets his redemption arc and then some, becoming one of the greatest kings in Narnian history, securing the legacy of Aslan, while Lucy, the most faithful, falls further than even Lucifer and ends up usurping God himself, not because she desires power, but because she sees the way that Aslan uses it as unjust.

And yet...both of them are doing this for the same reason. To be a champion of the downtrodden. To correct injustice. To secure themselves and their own kingdoms so that it can never be stolen from them again.

Gotta love some foils/parallels!

#chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #hey anyone read “long and happy was their reign?” #or “even a traitor may mend?” #casmund #prince caspian #no i did not stutter #i said that lucy pevensie became an eldritch goddess #what's there not to get? #aslan #my fics #aletterinthenameofsanity #fanfic #ao3 #meta #listen it has been four-five years since I wrote these fics #some meta/re-analysis is well-deserved

[soundsfaebutokay]

If you're a fic writer and you put a link to a rebloggable tumblr post in the ao3 notes of your fic, I love you I love you I love you. YES I WANT TO REBLOG YOUR FIC and yes if I feel that strongly about it I will track down your tumblr and dig through your archives just to reblog your own fic post from you so that you can see the positive tags and comments OR as a last resort I may make my own rec post but if I don't have to do any of those because there's a handy little link on your ao3 then I love you I love you I love you to the moon and back

#ao3 #fanfic #fandom etc #friends this has been brought to you by my very own utter failure to find a fic post on an author's tumblr #despite looking carefully through their mostly untagged blog for the past 40 minutes #I've found answered asks about that fic #various ramblings and such #but no post that says 'hey! here's a fic I wrote!' which I want very much to reblog so I can be like 'hey! here's a fic I read!' #because it is very good and I like it a lot #I'm so sure there's a post but I simply cannot find it #but Abby (I imagine you saying) #why don't you just ask the author where it is? #to which I gently respond: #my buddy my bestie my pal. #what about the fact that I just spent most of an hour rummaging through someone's tumblr archive #tells you that I have the social energy to ask favors from a stranger right now? #and so I must sit here and pout

[pigeonwit]

fandom has become a contest of egos rather than an act of love towards the source material and its miserable and i hate it

#hey my guy. my guy. i started writing fanfic by making shitty soul eater self insert oc fic #i make shitty fanart. i write bad poetry. thats how you fucking get better at it. #and yknow not to sound cheesy but its fun to look back and see where i improved and grew #i actually made a pretty decent drawing yesterday! im very proud of it! i wrote a little bit today! im proud of that too! #what do you have to be proud of through theft. #im not gonna act like im above seeking attention and validation. i do that shit all the time. but how is that validation worth anything- #if its based on something you STOLE

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead. 

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this. 

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs.  Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair. 

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?" 

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs. 

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles. 

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him. 

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That. 

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to. 

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly. 

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor. 

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step. 

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's. 

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before. 

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray. 

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further. 

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs,  "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of! 

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons. 

#i love how i kept saying to people: no no i shant write any fic for this. only art. #me like two weeks later: hey guys :) #this is just: i was sitting in class and had a drawing idea but then im obv not drawing *this* in class so my brain went into narrative mod #not exactly 'baby's first ficlet!!!' but moreso ive not written in a while so i hope its alright??? #but aaahhh this was actually pretty fun!! idk i think it was bcs i was also being brainrotted by the image of seb kneeling.... #maybe ill draw it. but it felt like something that needed the context of narrative and not just oo here is a drawing! #anyways you can always ask me for a directors cut-(PLEASE PLEAE BEGGING PLEASE) #see this is why im not cut out for writing fic #its not like i dont think it can speak for itself. more that im just an overly reflective person who wants to explain all my thoughts #if i wrote fic itd really be just: chapter 1. chapter 1.5 chapter 2. chapter 2.5 #anyways i think its pretty obvious but this is before their wedding and just like peak bitterness. #well not peak. peak would be the first year- first few months of their marriage #but this is fernando who is only just realizing how naive all his expectations of seb were and getting a glimpse of his future #but mostly: mindgames and power play and: whos actually really winning? #also my god jense is literally the best chara in this au. he is vibing and basically just witnessing ye olde reality tv #mark and fernando are always in a weird powerplay with seb(even if seb isnt even consiously doing so) and jense is just free from it all #hmm now how does one go about tagging fic #vettonso #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #martian #sebmark #also idk why im always so concerned abt tagging when im basically just writing this for my little boy king following i have somehow formed #hahaha! it is art to me!: #catie.art. #boy king au

[wundrousarts]

Hi folks! It seems like people are discovering that there are people online who write some WEIRD! 👎 stuff for Nevermoor. Some tips and tricks for dealing with that:

Don't engage. Don't read the fics. Don't even comment to say how much you hate it.

Don't spread it around. It's gross as hell, I know! But being like "ew, guys, I found this gross fic" just means you're causing more people to seek out said gross fic, and that's just not great. If you don't want to see it, no one else wants to either.

If you can: block, mute, or filter. I don't really use any fanfic sites to know if these functionalities exist, but I'm sure people online have found ways. Edit: here's a way to do it on Ao3.

TL;DR: Ignore, Ignore, Ignore. 👍

(PS: Same thing goes for when people send weird inappropriate anon messages. Just delete them from your inbox and don't subject others to them.)

This is unfortunately something that's been present for years in the fandom, on both Ao3 and Wattpad. This is also why I essentially don't read Nevermoor fics unless they're for Mogtober, and even then I'm cautious. I have seen some weird stuff written about my favorite characters that I wish I could pluck from my brain and set on fire, or worse! But when I stumble across that stuff, I just quickly close the tab and pivot to something else to get my mind off of it.

We should not entertain these types of people in a fandom full of minors about a middle grade series, so: just don't engage with them, ignore them, filter them out, and maybe even drown them out with some fics of your own.

#good talk 👍 #nevermoor #nevermoor fandom #nevermoor fanfic #why oh why does this fandom attract the occasional weirdo. #I'd be using stronger language when talking abt these types of folks but i'd prob get banned. #as an adult in this fandom I feel I have a responsibility to keep folks safe from weirdos 👍 i've banned folks on discord + i'd do it again #years ago there was a weird af fic on ao3 that I noticed folks were kudos'ing and I had to be like. hey guys pls don't do that 😭 #unfortunately ao3 moderation and rules are NONEXISTENT!!! so there's nothing ppl can do except the stuff above :/ #and I wouldn't know abt wattpad bc I went on there once to see what mogtober stuff ppl wrote and was horrified and noped out of there 😬 #anyways. all the more reason to participate in mogtober. so everyone's writing stuff in order to bury the gross stuff. creation for a cause #(and bc mogtober is fun and everyone should participate. lol) #soz for the psa folks but I deemed it necessary 🤷 feel free to enjoy the art I just posted as well #just been on the internet toooo long and don't like the thought or reality of young folks being exposed in any way to this kind of stuff. 😕 #couldn't figure out where to fit this emoji in so here: 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢. thats me and my constant feeling whenever this stuff pops up again. 😑

[autumngracy]

Not me creeping up to the wordcount of the fourth longest book ever written

#A Reflection of Starlight #AROS #valvert #fanfic #writing #Hey I switched back to LibreOffice again after setting up my new computer #(RIP my old computer's installation of MS Office 2009) #And also my old computer in general as it is now giving me the blue screen of death upon boot #but ANYWAY #does anybody know how to make LibreOffice stop highlighting formatted areas? BC with Dark Mode it's highlighting white text #which makes it impossible to read my footnote and page numbers #Also I CANNOT believe this program was coded to be so that 'Ignore' and 'Ignore All' options only do so for the CURRENT SESSION ONLY #Like what in god's name??? #I spent 3-4 hours reformatting AROS after converting it only to learn that all the 'errors' I told it to ignore just popped back #the second I reopened the document like jesus christ #Why even offer those options if it doesn't do it permanently for that document file #HHHHHHHhhhhhhHHHHHH #I then spent another several hours being forced to change the language formatting to French for all the French bits #JUST so it would stop underlining all of them in red #And there's no way for me to get rid of the underlining on things like cut off bits of dialogue #bc they are NOT proper words and I refuse to add them to my Dictionary (thus polluting it) just to get rid of them #Ugh #So anyway remember years ago how I joked about what if I accidentally wrote a fanfic longer than the source material itself #That being one of the longest books ever written (technically THE longest book ever written #if we're counting the FRENCH version of it and not the English translation #And yeah I know I technically split AROS into 3 books but that was only for reader convenience #It's still one book in my heart #And also because I think it would be REALLY funny to surpass Hugo's wordcount #Which is entirely plausible bc in English it was only about 531k so I only a little over 100k off and I think I can easily make that #with the material I have left to write but is already mostly plotted out

[jinxedruby]

Ambush at the Bridge: Chapter Five

And finally, the conclusion. Man, this is long.

AO3

First part | <- Previous part

-------------------------------

“This really isn’t necessary, Rancher.”

“You can say that as many times as you want, I’m still not going to let you walk on your own.”

Hyrule heaved a sigh from beside Twilight as they walked but made no further attempt to push away from the rancher. One of his arms wrapped around Twilight’s shoulder while Twilight supported him with an arm around Hyrule’s back. In spite of his insistence that he was fine, Hyrule had stumbled one too many times. Twilight decided to support him the rest of the way despite the traveler’s protests. Hyrule’s hair brushed Twilight’s jaw and he couldn’t help but glance at Hyrule’s head again to make sure the wound wasn’t bleeding. Dried blood matted strands of Hyrule’s brown hair together, darkening the color even further. Hyrule seemed stable, at least. He’d still break into a coughing fit every once in a while and the head wound threw off his sense of balance, but he was coherent and responsive. Twilight glanced away from Hyrule to Wind who walked a few paces ahead of them, constantly throwing concerned glances back at Hyrule.

“How much further, Sailor?” Twilight asked.

“We’re close,” Wind replied. “I recognize this area. There’s another bend or two then we should be there.”

Twilight nodded, readjusting his grip on Hyrule. The three heroes continued making their way upriver, the dull roar of the water accompanying their footsteps. Hyrule started coughing again and Twilight slowed, but the traveler just waved a hand, smiling at him between hacks.

“It’s… it’s just a tickle-“ A cough interrupted him, “-in my throat. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at Twilight’s lips but Hyrule pulled him forward, continuing to walk. They moved on in quiet, Twilight watching Hyrule carefully for any sign of struggling. Twilight’s ears twitched, picking up a faint noise in the distance. He focused past the sound of the river, honing in on the interruptions in its repetition. He recognized the punctuated vibrations and syllables of voices after a moment.

“I hear the others,” he said. Wind looked back at him, eyebrows raised.

“You do?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and listening. “I don’t hear anything.”

Twilight continued focusing on the sound, inner ears prickling. A low, rumbling pitch, answered by a thinner one. He couldn’t pick up any words but he could hear the sharp s’s and t’s that carried across the air. “It’s definitely them. We’re nearly there.”

Wind turned away, grumbling quietly. “No fair you get super hearing.”

Twilight and Hyrule both chuckled at that, the traveler breaking into a few short coughs. It didn’t take long before Wind heard the others as well. His face split into a grin and he bounced with each step. He sped up, remembered Twilight and Hyrule couldn’t speed up with him, slowed down, and sped up again on a loop. They followed a bend in the river and the trees gave way to the old bridge. Wind laughed, running ahead and waving his arms.

“Guys!” he called to the three blond heads visible across the river. They all lifted at his voice, revealed to be Time, Warriors, and Four. The latter two knelt by the river, water dripping from Four’s face while the captain paused in scrubbing his hands as they looked up. Time sat nearby facing away from them, head turned to look at Twilight and the others.

“Sailor!” Warriors stood along with Four, shaking water from his hands. A blood-speckled bandage wrapped around his head while Four’s nose appeared a few shades too purple. “Is Traveler…?”

“He’s right here,” Twilight called as he and Hyrule came to stand by Wind at the bridge.

Warriors stiffened. Even from across the river, Twilight could see how his shoulders raised, hand darting to the sword on his back. Twilight whipped his head around, expecting to see a monster of some kind sneaking up behind him and Hyrule. Nothing was there. He blinked, turning back to call out and ask what was wrong. He froze. Warriors, Four, and Time all stared directly at him, watching him with looks he’d seen them direct at monsters. The hair on the back of Twilight’s neck rose as he looked between the three heroes.

“What… what’s wrong?” he asked.

A long moment passed before Warriors spoke, eyes darting between Twilight and Hyrule. “Rancher?” he called carefully.

“Yeah?” Twilight responded, uncertain.

Warriors hand closed around the hilt of his sword and Twilight tensed, eyes wide. He felt Hyrule stiffen beside him, the traveler reaching for his own weapon only to remember it wasn’t there. Wind’s head whipped back and forth as he looked between the two groups, face scrunched in confusion.

Four stepped past Warriors, hand hovering near his sword. “Last week,” he began, and Twilight’s trepidation turned to confusion, “the cook made a dessert with apples but you didn’t get to eat yours. Why?”

Twilight’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he processed that. Four wore one of the most serious expressions Twilight had ever seen on the smith. He almost laughed at the absurdity of that combined with his question and how Warriors stood ready to draw his weapon at a moment’s notice.

“S-smith, what-“

“Answer the question, Rancher,” Warriors cut him off, voice tight.

Twilight’s mouth snapped shut, staring dumbfounded at the three. The longer he took to answer, the tenser they became. “Epona loves apples,” he began slowly. “I looked away for one second and she ate it right off of my plate.”

A second ticked by, then another. The sound of the river hammered Twilight’s ears, punctuated by his heartbeat. Then Warriors sighed, hand dropping from his sword. Time seemed to relax as well but Four remained stiff a moment longer, gaze boring into Twilight. After another beat, Warriors placed a hand on Four’s shoulder.

“Smith,” he began in a low voice, probably not intended for those across the river to hear. “I think it’s okay.”

Four stared for a moment longer before he relented, nodding slowly and relaxing his posture.

“Traveler, are you alright?” Warriors called.

Twilight blinked at the abrupt topic change while Hyrule huffed a laugh. “You… you can’t just-“

“What was that about?” Wind cried before Hyrule could complete his thought.

“It…” Warriors glanced at Four. “It’s a lot to explain. Sorry for the suspicion, Rancher. We can talk once you guys get over here.”

“Traveler, are you okay to cross?” Four asked. “We’d come to you, but…” He cast a glance at Time and Twilight frowned. Was the old man wounded? Was that why he hadn’t moved at all other than looking over his shoulder?

“I’m fine,” Hyrule responded.

“Great!” Wind all but jumped onto the bridge, the old wood groaning in protest. “Because I want an explanation for what just happened!”

Twilight nodded in agreement, fighting back a wince as Wind ran across the bridge, loud creaks accompanying each step. Twilight and Hyrule followed after him, reaching it just as Wind crossed to the other side, immediately rushing toward Four and peppering him with questions. Just before stepping onto the bridge, Hyrule stopped, pulling Twilight to a halt as well.

“Traveler?” Twilight asked softly, eyeing how Hyrule stared at the bridge. “You okay?”

Hyrule took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh that sounded almost exasperated. “I hate bridges.”

Twilight snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“Did you fall off a bridge and nearly drown, too?”

Twilight took a step onto the bridge. “No, but I’ve had several break on me,” he began as he took another step, Hyrule beside him. “Had two separate jousting battles on bridges.” Another step. “One got set on fire while I was on it. Had to jump off into the lake below.”

“Yikes.” Hyrule winced in sympathy as they walked.

Twilight hummed in agreement, nodding. “Two got taken apart by beasts and the pieces were thrown to the other side of Hyrule.”

Hyrule laughed. “What is with your journey and bridges?”

“I’ve asked myself the same thing,” Twilight chuckled. Before he knew it, they crossed the bridge, stepping onto solid ground on the other side. He grinned, looking over at Hyrule. “Hey, we made it!”

Hyrule snorted. “You had doubt?”

“You’re really asking that after everything I just told you?”

“Fair enough.”

“Traveler!” Warriors swiftly stepped in front of Hyrule, examining his head wound. He stood back after a moment with a sigh, gesturing to the ground beside Time. “Sit down, let me take a look.”

“It’s fine, I already healed it,” Hyrule protested, pulling against Twilight as the rancher tried to lead him to sit. “Besides, you’re hurt too.”

Twilight eyed the numerous bandages Warriors sported as the captain moved to Hyrule’s other side and grabbed his arm, firmly guiding him next to Time. “Just a few cuts that the old man already took care of. Sit down and let me take a look at your head.”

Hyrule heaved a sigh but didn’t fight any further, letting the two guide him. Once he was seated, Warriors glanced at Twilight.

“Are you hurt, Rancher?” he asked, eyes darting over Twilight.

“No,” Twilight replied, then gave a crooked grin. “Just muddy.”

Warriors nodded with a half-smirk and Twilight stood back up. He glanced between Time and where Four and Wind stood, the sailor continuing to pelt Four with questions faster than the smith could answer. He wanted to ask about their suspicion of him as well, but first…

“Old man,” he said, moving around Hyrule and Warriors and heading toward Time. “Are you-?”

His words died in his throat. Lying unmoving with his head propped up in Time’s lap, tunic absolutely drenched with blood, was Wild. Twilight gasped sharply, dropping to his knees before Wild’s form, one hand darting to the champion’s head, the other to the tear in his tunic over his chest.

“Champion!” Twilight pressed his hand against Wild’s much too pale forehead, the skin cool beneath his palm. Wild stirred at the touch but didn’t open his eyes, lips parted as he took shallow breaths through his mouth. Brownish tracks of dried blood ran along his collar and the sides of his neck, leading toward bloody mats in his hair.

“He’s alright.”

Twilight’s gaze snapped up to Time as the old man placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“We used a fairy and she took care of his wounds,” Time explained. “But he lost a lot of blood.”

Twilight’s head spun as he looked back down at Wild. Time’s reassurances battled in his mind with the sight of pale, unconscious Wild whose tunic looked closer to a dark purple than blue with how much blood was soaked into it. Wild shivered every so often, brow pinching.

“What…” Twilight swallowed hard against the lump that formed in his throat. “What happened?”

“We were attacked,” Four said, suddenly beside Twilight. Twilight glanced over to see Warriors, Hyrule, and Wind close by as well, listening to Four. “By a… shadow.”

Twilight’s eyes widened. “Shadow?”

“Not the Shadow, but…” Four lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged between Twilight and the others. He sighed. “I don’t know. I was able to fight him off, but not before he…” His eyes flicked to Wild for a moment.

Not before he almost killed Champion. Twilight finished in his head, wincing at the involuntary thought.

“Did he do that to your face, too?” Wind asked, delicate as always.

To Twilight’s surprise, Four laughed. “No, that was a moblin, actually. It broke my nose but the captain straightened it.” His smile faded as his eyes drifted back to Wild. Twilight found his gaze traveling to the champion as well, fingers absently running through the tangled blond locks. Wild’s breaths came shallow but steady, face still an unhealthy pallor.

“Does what happened with Champion have to do with your suspicion of me?” Twilight asked, not taking his eyes off Wild.

Four shifted as all eyes turned to him. Twilight looked up to see Four’s gaze locked on Wild, lips knotted.

“Yes,” Four said. He chewed on his lip, took a breath. “The shadow, he…” He trailed off and sighed. Then he forced himself to meet Twilight’s gaze. “He disguised as you.”

Twilight’s hand froze in Wild’s hair. The others might have reacted but he didn’t notice, focus tunneling. His eyes widened, heart thudding in his chest. “It…” He couldn’t form one thought, gaze dropping to Wild’s sleeping face. “Did… did you guys know, o-or…”

“We figured it out,” Four quickly said, seeming to understand Twilight’s thought process. “But not right away. We- he knew it wasn’t you by the time the shadow… hurt him.”

Twilight could hardly feel any relief at that. He couldn’t imagine what Wild must’ve felt. What Twilight would feel if he got attacked by something disguising as Time.

“I’m sorry for suspecting you,” Four said, distracting him from his thoughts.

Twilight shook his head. “No, I understand. I’d have done the same if-“

Stirring beneath his hand brought his words to an abrupt halt. Everyone’s heads snapped downward as Wild groaned, slowly bringing a hand to his head. His eyes fluttered and blinked open, squinted as he looked around. His blue eyes landed on Twilight, a haze dimming their brightness. His movements slowed. Then his eyes shot wide open. He gasped, hurling himself to the side and away from Twilight, slamming against Time. Time tried calming the cook, gently grasping his shoulders but Wild wrestled out of his grip. Twilight’s fingers snagged on a knot in Wild’s hair and the champion panicked, thrashing in an attempt to get away. Before Twilight could free his hand, Wild’s flailing connected with his jaw. The force of the blow snapped his head back and he yelped as Wild tore his hair free, lunging away from him and Time.

“Cook! Cook, calm down!” Four yelled, struggling to get Wild’s attention. Wild didn’t seem to hear him, attempting to spring to his feet. His legs failed to support him and he stumbled to one side before collapsing to his hands and knees with a groan. Warriors, Hyrule, and Wind all darted forward at once, eager to help, but Wild only stiffened at their approach, trying and failing to get up and run again.

“Give him space!” Time called, jumping up and grabbing Warriors’ arm, pulling him back. Warriors glanced at him before tugging on Hyrule and Wind, the three of them backing away. Wild continued to gasp, eyes wide and limbs shaking as he struggled to hold himself up and move. Four dropped to a kneel in front of Wild before Time could stop him, trying to get the cook’s attention.

“Cook! Link!”

The use of his real name seemed to finally get through to Wild. He looked up, breathing hard, muscles tensed as much as they could be in his weakened state.

“It’s fine, you’re safe,” Four said in less of a shout than before.

“But-“ Wild began, voice rough, “-th- the shadow-“

“It’s him, Cook, he’s the real rancher. The shadow’s gone.”

Wild stared at Four for a long moment, the smith giving him a reassuring smile as Wild heaved for breath. Wild turned his head, eyeing Twilight warily. “Rancher?”

Twilight did his best to smile. “Hey, cub.”

Wild visibly relaxed as the nickname, head dropping and elbows wobbling. He groaned and crumpled fully to the ground. Twilight and Four both exclaimed in alarm, darting towards Wild.

“’m okay,” Wild mumbled as Twilight carefully turned him onto his back. “Just lightheaded.”

“Any pain?” Twilight asked, gently checking him over for any fresh blood. “Your chest?”

“I’m fine,” Wild responded, weakly batting Twilight’s hands away. “Really. Just dizzy and thirsty.”

“Here.” Twilight glanced around for Wild’s bag and, when he didn’t immediately see it, unhooked his own water skin from his belt and held it out toward Wild. He and Four helped Wild sit up and Twilight held the water skin to Wild’s lips. Wild wrapped a hand around it and tilted it back. He drank slowly at first but was soon gulping it down, drops escaping through the corners of his mouth and trickling along his jaw.

Warriors knelt down before Wild as the champion drained the last of the water skin, lowering it with a gasp. “How’re you doing, Champion?”

“Captain,” Wild said, ignoring Warriors’ question and reaching toward him with his free hand. Warriors took the hand albeit with a bit of confusion. “Thank you.”

Warriors’ face fell into relief and a soft grin. “Don’t thank me. Thank the old man. If he hadn’t found that fairy…”

“And if you two hadn’t kept him alive until I got back,” Time immediately countered, nodding toward Warriors and Four.

Wild laughed lightly, pulling his hand back. “In any case. Thank you.”

Warriors smiled. “Of course.” Four and Time gave murmurs of assent.

“Glad you’re alright, cub,” Twilight said, giving Wild’s shoulder a squeeze.

Wild turned to look at him and his eyes widened. Twilight slowly took his hand away, worried Wild might still be somewhat afraid of him, but then he realized Wild’s gaze was fixed on his jaw. It throbbed slightly where Wild hit it and, judging by the cook’s expression, a bruise was already forming.

“Did…” Wild paused, swallowing thickly. “Did I do that?”

Twilight smiled, trying to appear reassuring. “It’s okay. You were panicking, I don’t blame you given the circumstances.”

“But still, I…” Wild groaned, folding his arms across his knees and lowering his head onto them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Twilight rested a hand on Wild’s shoulder. “It’s alright, really.”

Wild turned his head, peeking an eye out from under his bangs. He stared at Twilight for a moment, eye roving over his face. He must have found whatever he was searching for because he sighed and lifted his head again, propping his chin on his arms. Four held his water flask out toward Wild. When the cook didn’t immediately take it, Four shoved it in his face pointedly.

“Drink,” Four said, continuing to hold out the flask. “You lost a lot of blood, you need to stay hydrated.”

Wild leaned away from the flask. “I’m not taking any more of your guys’ wate-“

His words were cut short as Four shoved the mouth of the flask to Wild’s lips. Wild made a muffled noise of protest and Twilight couldn’t help but laugh as Four forcibly tilted the flask. A gargling sound left Wild’s throat before he snatched the flask and pulled it out of Four’s hand and away from his mouth.

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to drown me!” he exclaimed. He took a drink from the flask, rolling his eyes at Four’s smug expression. He glanced around at the others as he drank. Then he glanced around a second time and pulled the flask away from his mouth with a frown. “Where are Sky and the vet?”

“They’re still not back?” Wind asked as he looked around. The others glanced around as well, Twilight’s frown growing the longer the silence stretched.

“Who saw them last?” Time eventually asked as it quickly became apparent that no one knew where the two heroes were.

“I was by Vet at the start of the battle,” Wind spoke up. “But there were a bunch of those really fast lizards and we got split up.”

“I saw those,” Twilight realized. “Some went after Sky, I think. But that was right around when Traveler fell in the river so I didn’t see what happened after that.”

“Were there four?” Wild directed the question at Wind. The sailor nodded. “I saw those lizalfos in the woods. Took ‘em out. Didn’t see Sky or the vet, though. And I didn’t notice any… any blood.”

“Maybe they got chased off?” Warriors suggested. “They could’ve gone far to shake off the lizalfos. That would explain why they haven’t made their way back yet.”

“Even so, we should search for them,” said Time, turning toward the tree line. “They could be in trouble.”

“I’ll go,” Warriors said immediately, standing up and pointedly ignoring how his injured leg shook.

“No, you’re still hurt.”

“Nearly all of us are hurt. I can still fight.”

Time and Warriors shot back and forth several more times before Hyrule stood with a sigh. “I’m gonna go find my sword and shield,” he announced before setting off toward the river.

“I’ll come with you!” Wind immediately jumped up, jogging after the traveler.

Twilight watched them go before turning toward Warriors and Time, trying to think of a way to settle their argument. He stopped halfway when a distant sound pricked at his ears. He quickly turned back, peering downriver as his ears twitched. Sharp s’s and t’s. A low creaking noise that could have been a groan. He stood up, narrowing his eyes.

“Rancher?” he heard Wild ask but he ignored the champion in favor of listening to the voices.

“They’re back,” he realized. No sooner had the words left his mouth then two figures appeared around the bend in the river, moving toward the bridge slowly. Too slowly. Twilight took off toward the figures at a jog. “They’re back!”

He heard shuffling from behind him followed by a grunt that sounded like Warriors. Time ordered the captain to sit down before hurrying to catch up to Twilight, the two running to meet Sky and Legend.

Sky raised a hand and waved a bit weakly. Then he stumbled slightly, hand darting down to gingerly press against his side. Twilight’s heart jumped into his throat and he put more speed into his steps. As he drew closer, he saw blood speckling the left side of Sky’s tunic, steps hitching as he walked. Mud absolutely coated Legend, only one arm and the left side of his face clear through the muck. Legend looked up blearily, eyes taking a moment too long to focus on Time and Twilight. Then his gaze slid beyond them and his eyes shot wide open.

“Cook!” he shouted, breaking into an unsteady run. Sky did as well, but he stumbled and nearly toppled over, wrapping an arm around his ribs and hissing.

“I’m good,” Wild called, but that didn’t stop Sky and Legend from hurrying over to him. Twilight reached out to support Legend as he brushed past, but the veteran flapped a hand, staggering to a kneel before Wild.

“Goddesses, Cook,” he said breathlessly. “Did you decide to take a bath in blood?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Wild replied as Legend checked him over with slightly trembling hands. “Did you decide to take a bath in mud?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Legend snapped, pulling back after determining Wild was uninjured.

“What ha… wh… what h-“ Sky broke off into a cough, “-happened?”

“Got stabbed but then I got healed,” Wild said quickly. “I’m fine now. Are you guys okay?”

“Stabbed?” Sky wheezed before coughing again.

“Yeah, but I’m fine. All good. What happened to you?”

“I-“ Sky stumbled and tipped over backwards. Twilight yelped and darted forward but Time was already there, catching Sky and gently lowering him to the ground. Sky gasped in a breath before it abruptly cut off with pain, face twisting and arms wrapping around his middle. A shout of worry alerted Twilight to Hyrule and Wind’s return, silver sword hilt gleaming over Hyrule’s shoulder.

“Let me see,” Warriors said. Sky slowly pulled his arms away and Warriors gingerly prodded around Sky’s ribs. Sky winced, biting his lip to stifle a whine. “I think your ribs are fractured. Does anyone have a potion?”

Twilight pulled out his potion but Sky shook his head, carefully withdrawing a half-empty red potion from his own pouch. Warriors investigated Sky’s lightly bleeding side as the Skyloftian struggled to uncork the bottle.

“What happened?” Warriors asked as he gently rolled up Sky’s tunic to reveal the wound. Angry red patches stretched across his skin, blood seeping sluggishly from deeper portions where the skin had stripped away. A deep frown pulled at Warriors’ mouth, eyes darkening in a way that made Twilight think he must have recognized that kind of wound. The captain said nothing, reaching into his pouch to fish out bandages.

“Hinox from my era,” Legend said. Twilight glanced over to see Legend had laid spread eagle out on the ground, Hyrule kneeling down to check him over. Legend swatted the traveler away. “They like throwing people. And bombs.”

“Did you get thrown, too?” Four asked as he hurried over to Sky to help him uncork the potion.

Legend rocked his head from side to side. “No. Was stuck in a mud pit the whole time. I’m not hurt, just overextended my magic. Stamina potion wore off.”

Twilight perked up at that. “Mud pit?”

“Yeah.” Legend rolled onto his side, peering up at Twilight. His eyes widened as he took in Twilight’s mud-splattered state. “Wait, you too?”

Twilight nodded. “I was trying to follow the sailor but we got separated then I heard-“

“Laughing,” Legend finished.

“I didn’t… didn… hear anything,” Sky remarked breathlessly, sipping at the potion as Warriors bandaged his side. “But you… you did, Rancher?”

“Yeah. I tried to find out where it was coming from but I stepped into the sinkhole and it stopped.”

Legend’s eyes widened even further. “Same here.”

“Nobody else heard it?” Twilight asked, glancing around. The others all shook their heads. Legend and Twilight stared at each other for a moment. Twilight found his gaze drifting to the fading pink in Legend’s hair while Legend’s eyes landed on Twilight’s wolf pelt. They were silent for a moment.

“Weird!” Legend exclaimed.

“Yeah, so strange!” Twilight responded.

“Guess we’ll never know why we’re the only two who could hear it!”

“What a mystery!”

The others all eyed the two of them suspiciously, apparently not convinced by their subtlety. Twilight coughed, turning to Sky.

“Anyway, Sky, are you feeling alright? I have a full potion if you need it.”

“No, I think… I think I’m okay now,” Sky said, carefully twisting his torso from side to side and taking a few deep breaths. His chest didn’t hitch anymore and Warriors had rolled his tunic back down, covering the bandages.

“Okay, just keep an eye on it,” Warriors said. “Let us know if that changes.”

Sky nodded and Legend groaned, flopping onto his back once more. “I’m more than ready to clean up and call it a day.”

“I wish we were in the rancher’s Hyrule,” Hyrule sighed. “I could use a soak in one of those Goron hot springs.”

“My era has hot springs, too,” Wild said.

“Yeah, but your hot springs are way up in the mountains and no sane person would travel through all the snow just for that,” Legend replied.

Wild looked mildly offended. “I go up there for them.”

Legend shot him a look. “Like I said.”

Wild scoffed and rolled his eyes while the others laughed.

“And you definitely could use a bath,” Warriors snickered, moving from Sky to Legend to ruffle the veteran’s hair. “This mud color doesn’t really compliment your flowery hair.”

Legend swatted the captain’s hand away with a scowl. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped short, a glint entering his eye and smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe not, but you know what I think it would go great with?”

Warriors arched a brow, planting one hand on his hip. “What-“ He cut himself off with a shriek as Legend suddenly sprang up, mud-caked arms outstretched and a devilish grin on his face. Warriors lunged away, or at least attempted to. His injured leg gave out from under him and sent him sprawling to the ground. He twisted onto his back, holding out both hands as Legend loomed over him.

“Wait, wait, wait, you wouldn’t attack a wounded man!” he cried, waving his hands frantically.

Legend’s grin only grew. “I absolutely would.”

Warriors’ eyes widened but before Legend could descend on him, Wind tackled Legend from the side with a cry of, “Don’t worry, Captain, I’ll save you!” Legend lifted a mud-caked hand and dug his fingers into Wind’s hair, smearing it with mud and eliciting a sharp yelp of laughter from the sailor. Legend rolled as if to pin Wind beneath him but his eyes grew unfocused and he overshot, rolling over and off of Wind. Wind took Legend’s dizziness as an opportunity to pounce, uncaring that that only served to smear more mud onto him. But in rolling, Legend had moved closer to where Warriors was just beginning to stand. His arm shot out and snatched the captain’s elbow, yanking him back down with a yelp as he fell into the muddy heap. Twilight was half-surprised to hear a soft chuckle from beside him, glancing over to see Time’s eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched the scene. Twilight felt a grin tugging at his mouth as he looked back at the three, the others all having similar reactions.

“Now we’re really all going to need to wash up,” Twilight remarked.

“Yeah,” Four said. “We should probably stop those three before they get any dirtier.

“Probably.”

Nobody moved to stop them.

#linked universe #linked universe fic #linked universe fanfic #lu twilight #lu wild #lu four #lu legend #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu time #lu warriors #lu wind #the gang's all here #this was originally just going to be a oneshot of hyrule's chapter #then i was like “hey what if I also wrote what everyone else got up to” #now it's a nearly twenty thousand word beast

[hear-feel-think]

I am proud to present my contribution to the @fauxlorexiv minibang!

A retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice, starring Haurchefant and bard!WoL, also featuring Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus as Hades and Persephone.

There are lots of great fic and artworks in the works for March and some already posted so keep an eye on the collection and the tags for more folklore and mythology inspired works!

#fantastic fauxlore #ffxiv mini big bang #ffxiv #Haurchefant #haurchefant x wol #wolchefant #Emet-Selch #Hythlodaeus #A Realm Reborn #Heavensward #Endwalker #OC River Seine #Viera #Bard #fanfic #Hey look I wrote a fic!

[cherryatombomb]

Simon Riley headcanons

help girl this man is rotting my brain. anyway here r things that might not show up in my fics but i still think apply to him :] some of them are explicit autistic! ghost others are not but. he always is in my brain u get me. could be considered x reader bc i only mention s/o vaguely so go wild gang

Good with body language, figuring people out via how they act. Mostly good at understanding tone and such - but passive aggression is where he falters. He just doesn't get it mostly, struggles to register it. Surrounds himself with people who are pretty blunt so it doesn't matter, but oh man he hates passive aggression

Speaking of, he's so blunt. He just doesn't see why he should need to sugarcoat himself and will speak his mind all the time. Doesn't see it as being rude, he's just an honest guy.

Love language is physical affection he just has no idea. He's SO touched starved please hold him.

When he gets comfortable with an s/o he's just so cuddly when sleeping. Like, full on limbs everywhere, you have no idea whose limbs are whose. He loves it.

Favourite positions for cuddling are either his s/o on his chest, or him on their chest. Both becoming weighted blankets for the other, it's GREAT.

Also loves quality time, but when the person he's spending time with and himself are doing separate things in comfortable silence, it's so cozy.

The mask is a sensory comfort for him, that's why he wears it so often. He also doesn't emote expression-wise that much, which some people find disconcerting, so it helps. Mostly communicates physically through his eyes.

He's got a secret sweet tooth, and has multiple snacks stashes hidden throughout the bases he stays on. Gummy sweets + chocolates are his favourite.

He has dimples bc I think they're cute. That's all.

Good with kids but they scare him in the like "they're so sweet and I'm not sweet how do I handle it??". They think the mask is cool and just think he's pretty cool. Uses his shitty jokes for good if he's ever in a situation where he needs to calm a kid down, but makes sure they're more pg. Everyone thinks it's so funny to see this intimidating masked man make a joke abt fish being so-fish-ticated (sophisticated) when wearing bowties, but its okay bc it makes the kids giggle

Shows his affection in subtle ways when in public, he's not really a PDA guy. Like, pinky fingers intertwined, or feet touching when sat down. Not very obvious about it, but he's there nonetheless.

If his s/o is in the military he'll like do their armour straps before a mission, or clean their gun in between missions

Loves petting hair. It's so soft and feels so nice under his hands ohh he loves it. Lay on him and let him pet ur hair and he can die happy

Has a list of names of people who his s/o has mentioned hurting them. If they ever show up this boy will just glare the Whole Time.

Speaking of he's so protective but tries not to be overbearing with it. Like if someone's hitting on his s/o he trusts them but will just loom behind them to see if they need help. Waiting for them to either leave, or for his s/o to sic them on him like a guard dog, bc lets be real, that's who this man truly is

Loves picking his s/o up he's so strong so he can pick up most people. Only done in private time but will sling his s/o over his shoulder or stuff bc he loves hearing their response it's so fun

Good at art, but only really does charcoal landscape paintings. Very protective over this because he's kind of embarrassed about it but he finds it comforting

Not really a gift giver, he mostly just gives people money so they can buy it themselves because he's very practical.

For those that are close to him, though, I can see him making some effort - a personal sentimental gift alongside the money

Gifts his s/o one of his knives so they can protect themselves. Will teach them how to use it if they aren't military

Likes to fuck with new recruits who are scared of him because he thinks it's hilarious. This man is a MENACE

Cat person for SURE. They just get each other. The need to fuck with people and seem kind of hostile but also love affection on their terms? That's so Ghost.

#i love him so dearly #i wanna give him a little kiss #wrote this bc i had the sudden urge to whilst writing another ghost fanfic LOL #i mean hey if u wanna preview of my next fic in the 'tism ghost series #itll be him getting unmasked by a rookie whos bein a dick #so look forward to that #so much hurt/comfort gang #call of duty #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley headcanons #ghost headcanons #could be read as x reader #but i wont tag it as that bc i dont wanna clog the tag up :]

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Part 1 - Forsaken

A Till Death AU

I have no explanation for this. I don’t know what’s different from my usual daydreams, but this one has been haunting me for a few weeks, and I had to get it out. Parts of it can serve as nightmare fodder for either of them in canon.

Major spoilers for Till Death in this thing, obviously. Three parts, 2,5-3k words each. Content warning: It’s fucking cold.

Find Till Death here: Ebook | WIP Intro

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

This is basically “What if Clayton had never found Eilis?” — AU. After the end of part 1, Finnian spent summer and fall on his own, and now it’s winter, and he is running into Trouble with a capital T.

Finnian sat in a corner of the common room, cradling a cup of water while the smell of hearty stews and roasts made his mouth water and his stomach cramp. Having to pay rent for the thinnest mattress in the coldest corner of the cheapest room, he could only afford one meal every other day. Well, technically not even that, but any less, and his miserable body threatened to fail him completely. He needed it in something at least resembling a working order if he wanted to stand a chance, though by now, no one even paid him to chop firewood anymore with how long it took him.

It was barely the height of winter, and he had no idea how he was going to make it. If he was going to make it. Chances looked grimmer by the day. If he was lucky. If it started to thaw earlier than usual. If he found some scraps to eat, because at this rate, he was going to run out of money long before he was going to run out of winter.

“Week’s up. Time to pay.”

Ignoring the gleeful snickering a few tables down, Finnian raised his head to find the innkeeper looming over him. Whatever the man’s problem was, Finnian wished he had chosen another village to spend the winter. It was too late for that now; snow had long blanketed the world in white, making it far too risky to undertake the journey to a place that might as well turn out worse.

He downed his water and left the borrowed cup on the table, propping himself up with trembling hands. They always trembled these days, be it from cold, pain, or exhaustion. Leaning heavily on his cane, he hobbled into the room he shared with two other patrons—one sleezy guy who spent his days drinking at the inn, and one silent, muscular fellow who left at dawn to do gods-know-what.

Perhaps the innkeeper was disgruntled he couldn’t rent Finnian’s spot to a better patron; one who would spend more money, purchasing regular meals and indulging in alcohol and the occasional entertainment. Not that there was any shortage of clumpy mattresses filled with crushed straw and probably infested with vermin. Three were still free in this room alone.

With a sigh, Finnian sank down on his cot, wondering if it would be worth it to get up again later. Probably not. Leaning forward so he could fish blindly for his pack, a wave of dizziness came over him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he slowly dragged his backpack up to his lap. He would just sleep and hope that next day’s stew would actually contain some meat instead of bones alone.

Opening the tied strings of his backpack took way too long. Had he not been careful enough, despite knowing so well how much of a pain it was for his useless hands to detangle any knots he left behind? The innkeeper made an impatient noise, but it wasn’t like Finnian had chosen for his fucking hands to be this fucking useless. 

Finally, the backpack opened. There wasn’t much left inside. A second threadbare shirt and some stockings. A glass bottle, half filled with pills he had begun to ration weeks ago. His waterskin. Empty bags and pouches, as well as his knife and the tools he needed for laying traps and gathering herbs.

And no purse.

Finnian’s heart hammered in his chest as he went through his belongings a second time, then dumped the contents of the bag on his mattress. There wasn’t enough room for even a single coin to hide, but he lifted every object twice. No purse.

“Someone stole my money,” he said, his voice flat, barely above a whisper.

The innkeeper huffed, hardly impressed.

“Can you prove that?”

“Can I…?” Finnian slammed down the empty pack. “It’s gone.”

“Can you prove that you had it in the first place? Or that you’re not hiding it somewhere, trying to weasel out of paying?”

As Finnian’s mouth gaped at the baseless accusation, someone chuckled at the far end of the room. His head shot up, his good eye focusing on the drunkard he shared his room with.

“You.” He grabbed his cane and pulled himself to his feet, hobbling across the room so fast every step sent a little pinprick of pain up his leg. “You took it.”

“Don ‘now whatcha talking ‘bout.”

Finnian pushed out his chest, trying to appear threatening—which failed pitifully, considering he was a head shorter than the other man, and probably half his weight. He took one more step forward, his hand holding the cane in a white-knuckled grip.

“Give it back,” he demanded. His voice was steady, but it was more due to his desperation than to courage. “I need—”

With a laugh, the drunkard kicked at his cane and shoved him backwards. Finnian tried to catch himself, but his mistreated leg didn’t want to hold his weight. Arms flailing, he crashed to the ground and slammed the side of his head against a bedpost with a sickening crack that echoed down his spine.

“You have one hour to pack,” the innkeeper said. “Then you’re gone.”

Both of them turned their backs on him, leaving him splayed on the ground as they joined the other patrons in the common room. The ceiling above him wavered in blurry streaks, tears threatening to spill over. His hands slid uselessly over the floor, as did his feet, but at least he could move them, despite the pain in his neck. Blood ran down his temple and into his ear, soaking his hair, but he didn’t have the strength to wipe it away.

Finnian started to shake, the realization of what had happened—of what he had lost—slowly setting in. He pushed against it, trying not to think about the cold, and the snow, and the hunger as he closed his eyes and waited for his magic to fix the damage.

It didn’t take him an hour to pack—he had nothing left to pack. But it did take him almost that long to get back to his feet, and for his head to stop spinning. He wiped at his face, only smearing blood all over it, but it was the side with his bad eye, so it didn’t matter. 

With choppy motions, he shoved his belongings into the backpack, the crumpled, thin blanket last. The better one, he had sold weeks ago, figuring that he needed every single coin to make it through the winter. Coins that were gone now, leaving him with nothing: no hope, no warmth, no comfort, not even a trinket to keep the memory of her kindness alive.

Vowing not to cry while walking through the common room, Finnian gritted his teeth. He didn’t look at anyone as he left. Not at the innkeeper, who blissfully kept his fucking mouth shut for once. Not at the drunkard, who jeered after him, wishing him a nice journey. Not at any of the other patrons, none of which so much as looked up from their mugs and bowls and games of chance.

The door fell closed behind him, and the smell of old grease and stale ale was replaced with air so crisp and cold, it didn’t smell like anything at all, but burned in his airways and made his eyes water. Gods, it was freezing.

With heavy steps, he went to the well. He needed water, and that was the only thing no one in this godsforsaken village could deny him. Pulling up the bucket was a struggle. His hands, cold as they were, started to bleed as the rope slipped through his fingers, and the blood left stains on the battered leather of his waterskin.

Perhaps he should just drop over the edge. End his miserable existence and let his rotting body poison those who had shown him no scrap of sympathy. Staring into the dark abyss, he tried to imagine the fall, wondering where this way to die would sit between all the others he had dodged so far. But when he loosened his grip on the stones, it was only to raise his hand to his chest, where he knew the little bell was, even if he couldn’t feel it through the layers of clothes.

He didn’t want to die. 

Perhaps she would—

No. He couldn’t. He was useless. A burden. He had hurt her enough with his unwarranted anger. And if, despite all that, she agreed to help him, he would take from her meager resources, make life harder for her. She deserved so much better.

And yet. He pressed on his chest until the bell dug into his sternum, thinking of her warm golden eyes, always so sad when she had seen his pain. If she ever learned that he had died and she might have been able to save him, she would take it hard, there was no doubt about that.

It was this thought that allowed him to actually consider it. There really was no other way. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, and she was the only person who had ever cared about him since—

Not willing to wallow on how even his own family would just let him die, Finnian jerked his backpack off the edge of the well and flung it over his shoulder. He didn’t look back as he started to walk, not at all certain whether he would even make it. The sky was overcast, an endless whitish-gray plane above, not allowing him to see the position of the sun. It must be around mid-morning. He had plenty of time, but he also had plenty of pain and exhaustion, and night arrived early these days.

Not that it mattered. He was going to die here, or he was going to die in the forest. In any case, he could only hope the cold would finish him off before the first scavengers found him. Perhaps the well wasn’t the worst option after all, but the small spark of hope in his chest—of at least seeing her once more before the end—led him out of the village and onto the path between the trees.

* * *

Eilis stirred the pot, watching the milky mass inside slowly turn creamy. The bag of semolina she had bought in fall was so big it allowed her to eat nothing else until spring and still have some left over. As it looked now, she might just end up doing that, using up the day’s milk without bothering to churn butter or press cheese.

The days were all the same. Long, and cold, and dark, and lonely. Getting up before dawn, because dawn came so late this time of year. Rekindling the fire and making her way to the shed, through freshly fallen snow, if she was unlucky. Forcing herself to eat and chop some wood, huddling in front of the fireplace for the long hours of the day, and the even longer hours of the night, before eventually falling asleep too late and for too little time.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like her routine. She had worked hard to afford a comfortable winter, and the fact that her animals needed her gave her something to hold onto, to get up and moving even on the darkest days. This quiet life in her peaceful hut was certainly the best she’d ever had. It was just that something was missing.

Someone.

Her gaze wandered to the window, even though the thin hide spanned in the opening made it impossible to see anything outside. It flapped ever so slightly, straining against the leather bands holding it in place. The wind must have picked up. It seemed like she had been right, and a storm was coming. 

With her bowl in hand, she retreated in front of the fireplace, shoving bags of fibers and spun yarn aside to free enough space so she could sit down cross-legged. The porridge tasted the same as it ever did, with a spoonful of rosehip jam to sweeten it, and the fire crackled and flickered as it always did, and her gaze kept wandering back to the window as it always did.

She wondered if he was also sitting at a fireplace now, warming his aching bones and longing for winter to be over. If he had found a place to belong, a way to make a living. He must be a herbalist or healer of some kind. Those were always welcome; weren’t they?

It was the alternative she didn’t want to think about. They had never talked about his life before she had found him, but it couldn’t have been great. No one with a great life ended up beaten half to death and left to die in the forest like that. She had wanted to find a way to ask him—ask him whether he would want to stay—and it had never come to that.

Perhaps if he hadn’t scared her that much. If she hadn’t overreacted. If she had taken a few days to calm down instead of sending him away. Physically, he was no threat for her. But then, it wasn’t him she had been scared of, not really. She had been scared of all his questions stood for. Of what it meant to allow him into her life. Of turning him into a target if she was ever found.

She was better off alone. If she only told it herself often enough, her heart might one day accept it as her mind had, and the empty space he had left behind might be filled with something that wasn’t the longing to hear his voice or the chiming of the bells.

Her bowl was empty, and the wind had begun to whistle around the edges of the hut, so she sighed and got up. She had to close the shutters and make sure the animals were safe in the shed before the storm hit, instead of wallowing in what could have been.

With a woolen shawl pulled close around her shoulders, she stepped outside. The wind pulled strands out of her braid, whipping them into her face, while the snowflakes turned into little spikes of cold, prickling on her skin. It was no weather to be outside. Still, her gaze wandered to the edge of the forest, barely visible behind the flurry of snow. Nothing moved. Every creature would long have found shelter, and she should do the same.

As if agreeing with her, the wind pushed her against the wall as she struggled to make her way to the shed. She grabbed her shawl tighter to keep it from flying away, each breath ripped from her lips before she could even see it fog in front of her face.

Wherever he was, she could only hope he was safe.

#my writing #whump #fantasy whump #wip: till death #me: I don't write AUs #my brain: like fuck you won't #hey does it still count as fanfic if I wrote the book

[thewitchoftheweed]

It’s getting late in the day. As much as the Lamb wants to stay like this forever, the Darkwood gets more dangerous after nightfall. They hesitate, trying to figure out the best way to wake Narinder. They want to kiss him again, to hold him close and tell him how happy he’s made them, but they’re frozen. What if it’s too much? What if they overstep? Instead, their hand settles on his arm, still stretched across their chest. “Mmrf.” Narinder wakes with a soft trill, red eyes blinking sleepily at the setting sun. He stares at them for a moment, brow furrowing faintly in confusion, then recognition spreads across his face. Somehow his gaze seems to soften, and his ears swivel back. He glances upward at the light coming in through the trees, then buries his face in their wool. “I didn’t mean to sleep that long.” “I only just woke up,” they lie. They’ve been awake for a while, just watching him sleep. “I guess we tired ourselves out.” Narinder smirks slightly. It fades quickly, a contemplative look shadowing his face like a passing cloud. He runs his hand across their wool as though seeing it for the first time. He says quietly, “So this is real.” “My wool or… this?” They draw their ears back. Does he regret what they did? How far they went? “Yes,” Narinder says. He nuzzles his face into their shoulder, as though he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing or feeling. “It can be difficult for me to tell the difference between dream and reality when I first wake. Usually this is the part where you vanish.”

#my posts #cult of the lamb #my fanfic #hey remember that smut oneshot i did #well i wrote a whole lot more #narilamb #the lamb #narinder #true devotion #cult of the lamb fanfic

[fitzrove]

I want to write a romance subplot (in [original project]) but I have this problem where I straight-up disagree with most people online on what is appealing in a romance story or romantic subplot (ie. a lot of common tropes are unappealing to me, I usually need it to be Full of Symbolism And Themes [but only like... wider themes, usually sexual liberation and self-discovery which are pretty common ones arent really my cup of tea ajks], I don't usually find much appeal in a mundane romance being at the center of the narrative & it has to be wlw OR i have to delusion it into being so in my head...)

Like legit the target audience for the kind of relationship I would write would just be me and like 3.5 of my gay friends rip

#also while writing this i realised i havent worked on any of my fanfic ideas for ages 😭😂 #i think i should do at least one of them because i need to practice different voices (maybe another w tdv because those are new characters) #also if i wrote that todcheni fic it would be so fucked up and meta. nobody would want to read it and itd be like 88k words #😂 that is kinda making me want to write it but tbh i feel like i should prioritise school #my professor straight up emailed me like 'hey no pressure but i'd be stoked if you wrote your book review on this book specifically👀👀' 😂 #like omg dr [redacted] is commissioning me and we've only known each other for 3 weeks xD

[koostarcandy]

you & i - jungkook x reader [2/3]

pairing: idol!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre: angst, fluff towards the end

a/n: cause some sweet souls said they'd like part 2! so here you go darlings ^^ read pt i if you haven't yet! since the first drabble was from oc's pov, I thought I'll do this was from jaykay's pov!

wc: 585 words

jungkook feels like he's on the verge of breaking down.

he wants to run away, from responsibilities, from anything that gnaws at his mind. he's always tried to be grateful about everything that's happened to him, overwhelmed with the support he receives from all over the world. sometimes, it gets more than overwhelming. the pressure to be better than the last time, to be the best in what he does gets in his head. he has always controlled his emotions, thought twice before he speaks, anything to make sure that what he says is communicated perfectly.

he can picture it, crystal clear, the way your face fell and your heart shattered when he divulged your worst fears in the most painful way possible. he wanted you to scream at him, follow him, pull him back, cry and shake his shoulders at his behaviour. you don't, instead you watch him leave, shaky voice asking him to stay. jungkook knew he needed time away from everything but he never knew it would include you.

he left, quietly closing the door behind him. getting in his car, he drove out to the nearest hotel. in the rain, he drives past couples sickly yet happily in love, chasing each other in parks or in huge transparent umbrellas, huddling close. he thinks of the times you used to practically force him to help you prop up blankets around the living room mattresses, saying the rainy weather was perfect for blanket forts. he lies in the unfamiliar yet comfortable hotel bed, staring at the pristine white ceiling. everything was bare, void of feeling. he politely asks room services to bring food and beer to his room, trying to get his mind off things. he goes back to the time where you said that you both don't know who you are with or without each other.

but he knows.

he knows he belongs by your side, in your arms. in the morning, when the soft streams of light wake you both up and there's a sleepy smile adorning your features. in the morning rush to work, hastily eating breakfast and long kiss goodbye. in the blue light of his phone glaring at him in the darkness of his studio, looking at your texts to "hydrate, you doofus." and "eat, i made our favourite pasta today🥰!" in the evenings, curled up in his arms, talking about your day and playing with your hands. in the quiet dinners, where the only thing passed is the big glass of soda and occasional passing commentary about the latest drama you're both watching. in the languorous nights, wrapped in each other. sometimes, you both drift apart from twisting and turning but your hands stay intertwined, not wanting to let go of each other even in dreamland.

that's who he is, that's where he belongs. with you, he's a lover, he's a fighter. he wants to stay by your side until the day you say you don't want to be around him anymore. jungkook knew he fell in love hard and falling was scary. you caught him, your perfect love gently gripping him.

now, he's falling again, because he doubts who he is anymore. he hasn't got his person to save him, all because he said he needed time away. he decides 2 months is enough time of running away. he tosses his laptop aside and takes his phone, speedy fingers going to your contact and opening your messages.

to angel♡:

you & i, our favourite place, tomorrow 8 p.m.

pt time: @armys-dna ; @joondiary ; @soobhyun ; @shatzkrinslinzki ; @highly-functioning-mitochondria

#jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fanfics #this was difficult to write #but hey if you got to the end and put up with bs i wrote #mwah ily

[isabelguerra]

hi kt don't mind me I'm just stalking over for a little bit

HI KASSIE<3 I see youre having fun. In my notifications.

#hey kassie sorry if this gives you heartburn but i was going through google docs yesterday while writing pacific rim au stuff #i think i subconsciously named scourge behemoth after that time i wrote you clue au fanfic and named johnny flaming scourge. #i saw it in my files and nearly fell out of my chair #dubioushonor #asks